


Understanding

by hithelleth



Series: In Enemy's Hands [4]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Family, Future Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all. Charlie is still stuck with Monroe. They both learn some things. Oh, and Danny appears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understanding

Charlie accepts the recruit uniform with a frown but figures it is not worth arguing over. At least she won’t ruin her clothes. Besides, wearing the uniform doesn’t make her one of them. Not when they look at her with despise when they hear her name, and she catches the word _traitor_ whispered more than once. She ignores it and keeps her head high. 

It helps that sergeant Walters, the instructor, though obviously sharing the recruits’ feelings, looks at her with a tiny bit of fear in his eyes as he yells instructions at her like at everyone else. It feels even better when she manages to keeping up fine, even when some of the recruits try to sabotage her by trying to mislead her about instructions a few times. Walters puts a stop to it when he notices it, driving fear into their bones with extra work while casting a begrudging look at her. She almost pities the man for whatever sort of orders he is under. Almost.

The day goes by swiftly, with the afternoon archery practice considerably boosting her confidence. A short bow is not her weapon of choice, but her aim is good nonetheless, and it earns her some approving glances, though quickly hidden away. She doesn’t care. She isn’t there to make friends.

At the end of the day, a guard takes her back to Monroe’s quarters. She eats and bathes, and then stretches out on her stomach, pleasantly tired. She missed this feeling that comes after a day of physical activity, something she is used to, especially after being constantly on the move for weeks. Even before, living in her little settlement, she used every chance to get out of the chores that required being still in favour of hunting or working in the fields or just sneaking out for the sake of it.  

***

“I suppose your day has been sufficiently fulfilled,” Monroe smirks as he comes in.

She doesn’t respond right away. He continues: “Otherwise, I could think of a way or two to entertain you further.” She curses in her head, him and his smugness.

She turns around. “It has been a very entertaining day.”

“Good.”

He sits down on the bed, regarding her carefully.

“I’ve seen to you having every other afternoon off. Wouldn’t want you to be too tired.”

Charlie feels her face warm up. “I imagine that would be inconvenient.”

Monroe seems amused. “It might be.”

 “I’m sure there are other women who would…um…like to… oblige you.” She has no idea why she says that. Nor why the thought is a little disturbing. Probably because he’s going to get mad at her any time now.

He doesn’t, for the moment. “I’m sure there are,” he returns, instead.

“But you don’t fuck around.” The words just pop out of her mouth. There’s a pause, she prepares for whatever it is to follow.

“I don’t.” Monroe’s voice is lower, but still perfectly calm, a deceptive appearance, she already knows.

“Why not?” She almost whispers, aware she’s walking on thin ice.

“For one thing, I don’t want to catch anything.”

Of course. Charlie knows about diseases. Maggie made sure to educate the kids in the village about sex and things worse than pregnancy.

“You could always have virgins sacrificed…” oh, she better shut up. _Are they really having this conversation?_

To her surprise, Monroe laughs.

“Aren’t you a smart girl? I don’t like the word sacrifice, though.”

Charlie shrugs, staring at the ceiling. She can feel the mattress shift as he lies down.

“Do you consider yourself a sacrifice?”

“No.” The answer comes from her tongue without thinking, because she really doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t be giving me such brilliant ideas. Unless you wanna be cast aside, that is?” Charlie is relieved that the teasing is back.

Monroe reaches for her, tugging her closer. “Now shut up, or I’ll think you’re not tired enough. Training starts early.”

***

Charlie falls into a routine almost too easily. Training fills most of her days and she actually likes it, both the drill and the learning. Some of the recruits murmur about her ‘preferential’ treatment and she eats lunch sitting on her own, but at least she is free to observe and think in that way.

Her free afternoons usually include a visit with Rachel, sometimes just a few minutes, sometimes an hour. Their conversation is mostly small talk, partly because they are probably being listened to, but mostly because Charlie is not really at ease with this woman who is more of an acquaintance to her than a mother, someone she used to know but doesn’t anymore.

Somehow she finds it easier to deal with Monroe than with Rachel, something she would have never believed to be possible before. At first, she is quite wary of him, not knowing what kind of reactions to expect from him, although her inherent proneness to speak bluntly and talk back disguises it well. However, she has a good sense of when it is not a good time to push it too far and she soon learns to recognise his moods, which makes her relax more and more around him.

The old Charlie would have been horrified at that, but she lost that Charlie the first time she desired Miles, the first time she took a life. Finding a semblance of a peaceful coexistence with Monroe doesn’t seem so awful in comparison. And the sex is not something she minds. Even the old Charlie was never a romantic sort of girl, never dreamt of beds of roses and knights in shining armour. She experimented, of course, she did, but kissing – never got any further than that – a few boys from her village, some terrified of her, other eager to put her in her place and prove their masculinity, only made her lose her interest.

Monroe, now, is a different matter, a man. She would have called him old once, but she forgets about his age at his solid body, prefect muscles, not an extra gram anywhere. His touches make her feel like she has never imagined. She goes with it as naturally as she breathes, relishing the sensations she discovers.

He never hurts her, not even when he is in one of his moods. The first time he pins her against the wall, restraining her wrists behind her back with one hand and her chin with another in an iron grasp, just on this side of not painful, he scares her, a lot. She completely fails to hide it, tensing like a bowstring.

“Don’t fight me, Charlie…” the four quiet words, somewhere between a warning and a plea, dissolve her fear into nothing, even though he is rough and impatient and he drags her to the bedroom, bends her over and takes her from behind. He pounds into her, hard and fast, and she comes harder than ever before he is done. He gathers her in his arms afterwards, an act so contrary to what has just happened, she instinctively tries to withdraw. He only tightens his embrace and pulls the covers closer, so she stays.

He never lets her fall asleep without some sort of contact, at least his arm around her waist. It becomes a thing she’s comfortable with, a feeling of safety and warmth that soon gets familiar, no matter how weird it would have sounded to her in the past. She has got used to strange and unexpected by now, and so she is okay with it.

Then there is a whole other side of him, something she has glimpsed before, something yet again different from the casual or upset, and that shocks her in a whole different way.

It is about two weeks after she and Miles arrived in Philadelphia that she gets cramps. Monroe finds her curled up in the bed in the evening and immediately asks her what is wrong. By then, she knows it is no use to avoid answering; besides, she doesn’t have the strength for it anyway, so she mumbles her reply without looking at him.

He pauses for a second before leaving without saying a word. _Well, he could send me away instead, so that’s not so bad,_ she thinks. She startles when he comes back and spreads another blanket over her.

“Extra warmth helps, I heard,” he says by way of explanation.

She involuntarily flinches when he gets in the bed behind her and reaches over her.

“A massage might help, too,” he murmurs against her ear and starts rubbing her belly. After a while he adds: “You know, contrary to what you might think, I didn’t crawl straight out of a cave. I did live in the twenty-first century.”

Despite trying, she doesn’t manage to keep herself from chortling.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Better be nothing.” It doesn’t sound much like a threat, though. The warmth and the gentle moving of his palm against her belly soon lull her to sleep.

In the morning she panics, seeing she’s overslept. She doesn’t feel so bad, so she hurries up with dressing and rushes into the lounge, planning to have just a few bites and tea. There is something dark brown set out on a plate so as to catch her attention. Chocolate pudding. There’s a note, too, unsigned: _Chocolate helps, too. Take the day off if you want._

She is not even that much surprised anymore.

***

Now that her days start early, she often has breakfast with Monroe, usually in silence, which is not necessarily unpleasant. On one of such mornings Monroe clears his throat when he is already at the door: “Your brother will be here today.”

“Danny?” she almost chokes on her food.

“Will you let me see him?”

“No.” Monroe doesn’t even look back at her as leaves.

The day is lousy, she is distracted and clumsy, and she keeps getting yelled at, which definitely makes some people’s day. She is too anxious and busy worrying about Danny and thinking about how to convince Monroe to let her see him to care. _What has she done he won’t let her see Danny? Nothing, nothing at all, what the hell has gotten into him?_ By the end of the day she is ready to beg.

She’s so deep in thought on the way from the training ground the guard has to remind her of the way. It iss then she notices he is taking her by a different route than normally. She barely dares to hope.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“The General’s orders.”

The room seems just as luxurious as Rachel’s, but all Charlie sees is Danny, his blond hair falling on his eyes. She launches herself at him, hugging him tight.

“Danny, thanks God.”

He hugs her back, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Charlie?” her little brother’s voice is uncertain. “How are you here?”

“I promised I would find you, you fool, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

They just hug a little longer, before she draws back. “How are you, are you…” There’s a scar on his forehead, and another under his eye, a bruise on his cheek. “You’re hurt! What have they done to you?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” That’s her stubborn little brother. She is just about to insist he tells her what happened when he frowns and backs out of her arms.

”Are you with them?” he half-asks, half-accuses, and she realises she’s still in her training uniform.

“No, it’s not like that.”

“Then how is it?” Danny stands up, so she does the same.

“It’s…” she struggles how to explain it to him with the guards listening. “It’s…the only way I could see to find you…”

“Then I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Danny, no…” Her eyes well up.

“Miss Matheson, time to go.” The guard distracts her just enough she doesn’t start crying. He ignores him.

“Danny, please, don’t hate me.” His features soften a little and she guesses the guard has just done her a favour. Danny doesn’t withdraw when she steps closer again. She embraces him carefully. “It’s going to be all right,” she tells him “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Miss Matheson, please.” She reluctantly lets go of her brother as she hears the guard approach. There is no point in making a scene. Besides, the man is kind enough; she doesn’t want to get him in trouble.

“I’m going.” She turns back to Danny. “I’ll see you, okay? Be good.”

He dares to roll his eyes, and there is the faintest smile on his face. “Okay.” Just as she’s already following the guard out, he adds: “It’s good to see you too, Charlie.” When she glances back, he grins.

***

“Danny’s hurt! What have they done to him?” she reproaches Monroe when she sees him.

Monroe is taken aback for a moment; then he puts on his don’t-mess-with-me expression. “He’ll live.”

That only ticks her off further. She huffs.

“There was a tornado. Your brother saved Captain Neville’s life.” Monroe explains. There is a hint of appraisal in the words.

“Captain Neville? The guy who killed our father?”

“To my knowledge, Danny killed the man who killed your father. So they are sort of even. And we are not having this conversation again.”

Her lips tighten. _Even, right._

“My brother hates me.”

“My fault, I’m sure.”

She turns her back on him and goes to stare out of the window, although it’s dark outside and she can’t really see anything.

He comes to stand beside her.

After some time, he breaks the silence. “My doctor didn’t find anything wrong with Danny.”

_He sent a doctor to see Danny?_

“Thank you.” She says it with an emphasis, making sure he knows she means it.

Monroe glances at her sideways and shrugs: “No problem.”

***

_I shouldn’t have drunk that last shot,_ Bass thinks when he makes his way into his bedroom. Or the one before that, either. But he sure as hell needed them after that report of the rebel skirmish. The place and time are too close to where and when Miles was supposed to be not to worry him. He can’t decide whether it is because Miles might have gotten captured, hurt, or because he might have betrayed him, again.

The girl appears to be asleep, so he tries to move around quietly. He doesn’t know why he bothers, since she annoys the hell out of him. He could put her into a cell, though that would certainly not contribute to Miles’ willingness to cooperate. He could also put her in one of the guest rooms, there are plenty. On the other hand, he likes that she dares to challenge him. It has been too long since anyone told him the honest truth as she does. He made sure of it, fearing treason so much that he scared everyone into nodding and sucking up to him. He knows they fear him, but while some may respect him, there are many who hate him. _It’s lonely at the top,_ he thinks unable to remember who it was who said it. The truth is he doesn’t have it in him, what Miles has that makes people follow.

Yeah, he doesn’t mind having the girl around. She’s smart, and she has guts. Sleeping with her is a bonus. Not just because of the gorgeous lithe body. He could have any pretty young thing, after all. A timid little virgin terrified of him, or a calculating slut trying to use sex to get something in return.

No, Charlie is nothing like that, she’s all brave and genuine, and open to explore, and so damn responsive, in and outside the bed.

And he has definitely drunk too much, giving her so much thought, damn it.

“You miss him.”

He looks at her, abruptly. She’s watching him, her eyelids nearly closed. For how long has she been doing that?

“And who would that be?” he fakes not understanding and feels stupid while at it.

“Miles.”

“How insightful of you.” Oh, yeah, she can read his goddamn mind, too, he has forgotten that. He can do the same with her, pretty much.

 “When is he due back?” _Any time._ It’s not realistic. But it’s been more than three goddamn weeks. He gave him a month. _And then he hears of that incident with the rebels._

Instead of answering, he busies himself with undressing. She waits, calmly. It’s irritating. In a good way. He stalks to the bed, climbs over her, supporting himself on his hands, a little unsteady. He leans in to kiss her.

“You’re drunk.”

“Like I said, very observant.”

She doesn’t hesitate to kiss back when his mouth crush on hers. God, he wants her. He’s going to need a little help, though.

He takes her hand and places it on his cock, making it clear what he wants. She feels the outline of his length. The curiosity gets the better of her, as always, and she starts rubbing her hand along his shape.

Bass moans, and wraps her fingers around himself.

“Go on,” he hisses, sucking on the soft skin on her neck. Her body shivers in response. She gets bold then, touching, exploring. He feels his blood rushing down, his head gets light when he hardens.  

He fumbles with her clothes and in between the two of them they manage to get her naked in good time. He touches her, everywhere, he loves the feel of her body under his hands, trying not to be too rough. It’s not enough, he has to kiss that soft skin of hers, taste, bite, but just slightly. He sucks on her nipples, grazing his teeth over the sensitive peaks just as he has learned by now it turns her on.

He needs her, now. He pushes her knees open without meeting resistance.

She’s tight and warm as he buries himself inside her and he has to move. He thrusts without an actual rhythm but after a few strokes she starts arching towards him, meeting his movements.

She’s so good, he tells her. He buries his face into her shoulder, thrusting harder, as her arms hold him closer. Her moans make him dizzy. He can’t last any longer. Drank too much.

“Fuck.” He grunts and pulls out. He gives himself one, two hard strokes, then shoots white stripes over her belly and finally collapses on her.

“Damn it, I’ve almost come inside you,” he rasps. He forces himself to move off her between taking a few deep breaths, doesn’t want to crush her. “That would be a very bad idea.”

She’s quiet, just lying there, her hips still rolling a little. He sees her bite her lip and then she looks away from him at the same time as she reaches between her thighs. She hasn’t come, it occurs to him. Well, that won’t do, even if he’s a little slow tonight, no one has ever said he can’t satisfy a woman.

He knocks her hand away and flips her on the side, facing away from him. She starts to protest, but stops as he replaces her hand with his, teasing her nipples with the other.

She bucks against his hand as he fingers her, rubbing his thumb over her clit. She turns her head, searching for something, gasping, as she rocks faster. In the end, she hides her head in the pillow, even her stifled whimper still loud when her body convulses. He strokes her through it until she stills, her body quivering with aftershocks.

He disentangles just to wipe their mess with the bottom corner of the sheet, then pulls her back against his chest.

Only their breathing fills the room.

“I’m drunk, because my best friend isn’t here.” He has no idea why he says that. But he knows she’s heard him.

“And I’m not drunk enough because the said best friend isn’t here to cover my back.” It’s an admission to himself. He can’t even get properly drunk because he doesn’t know who’s going to stab him in the back when he’s not looking.

He tightens his arms around her. She moulds against his body perfectly. He presses his face against her shoulder and forgets everything. 

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta-ed. All mistakes are mine. Feedback is always welcome.


End file.
